


M is for Mine

by ElDiablito_SF



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Branding, Dirty Talk, Light Bondage, M/M, making fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 10:14:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/pseuds/ElDiablito_SF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a couple of days since the confrontation at the power plant, and Bass is having trouble sleeping.  Apparently he's not the only one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	M is for Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [3988Akasha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/3988Akasha/gifts).



> I owed Akasha hot man sex: I have rendered the hot man sex onto thee, Mistress.  
> This is/was intended to be PWP, but somehow the Miloe Muse derails me and we go into uncharted kinky territories together. Nevertheless, this is basically over 3K words of just sex.

Bass shut his eyes and tightened his fingers in Jeremy’s hair, inhaling his warm and comforting scent.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his lips trailing along his Captain’s jaw, teeth nibbling on the protruding lower lip.

“I didn’t miss on purpose, you know,” Jeremy confessed, returning the kiss, his own hands clasping tightly over the pliant mounds of Monroe’s celestial ass. _Fucking Miles_ , Jeremy thought, picturing the catharsis of Bass crumbling in grief into his own embrace over his former CO’s dead body. He would be such a wreck, but it would be final, and so Jeremy would only have to clean up that mess _one last time_.

“Shut up,” Bass breathed against his lips, teeth now grazing along Jeremy’s neck ligaments, with a threat underlying the playfulness. “Shut up,” Bass repeated, hands making quick work of Jeremy’s clothes, even though Jeremy wasn’t going to say anything anymore. He was just going to give Bass what he needed, what he always needed at times like these. Possibly longer and harder this time around, if it was at all possible. Jeremy wished he had not missed. In fact, he wished that he had actually gotten even a single shot off when Miles was within range. But then, perhaps, Bass would not be thanking him quite so... gratefully.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” Jeremy asked, forcing his mouth to unlatch from the smooth patches of sweat-soaked skin he had been sucking on. The look Bass gave him was almost of relief, Jeremy reckoned. Of course, Bass would never have asked him to stay himself, but he could give him this look, and his tiny smile of acquiescence, and with it yield up his body and his mind, if only for that one night.

***

It was hot and Bass couldn’t sleep. He had already kicked off the last of his covers and dumped the remnants of his water basin all over his face and hair, but these ministrations were not having any cooling effects. He wondered idly whether the heat wasn’t actually merely a product of his imagination.

He eyed the window, knowing that to unlatch it to let in some air could be potentially a fatal mistake. Then again, he had never given less of a shit about his own life as in this moment. He paddled along to the window, his bare feet drinking in the coolness of the uncarpeted floor, and finally leaned out into the night air. It was a new moon, so the night felt darker than usual. In the distance, he could make out the sound of cicadas, chirping their steady choral tune into the night.

Bass poured another drink and forced himself to return to his bed, pulling one of the pillows into his embrace instead of resting his head on it. Perhaps he should send for Jeremy again? At least that way he could get fucked into oblivion and pass out in the arms of probably the only man in the world he could still trust.

He heard someone ask for a password outside and heard the password being given in response. The Republic ran like a well-oiled machine while the Dictator stewed alone in the bed he had made for himself. Bass grinned into his glass. What was it Miles had said to him? _Too far gone._ That’s right - he was too far gone, and far too pathetic. He shut his eyes again and tried to find some sheep to count, except instead of sheep he pictured little helicopters, flitting like hummingbirds underneath his heavy eyelids. The imaginary propeller in his mind moved in steady circles, the blades cutting through the air in slow motion. _Whoom. Whoosh._

“I would have given you anything you wanted,” Bass said, to no one in particular. Or, perhaps he only thought he had been speaking. Sometimes these early stages of sleep were too easy to mistaken for actual wakefulness.

“I wanted you,” the voice in the night responded to him.

“You could always have me. That’s not something you ask for. It’s a thing that is yours, that you just take.” Bass smiled, or tried to smile, to the night visitor. The air from the open window was bringing his scent closer. The dream felt more real than before. 

“Don’t call the guards, Bass,” the night visitor shifted closer, blocking the sound of the dream helicopter somehow with his body. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead,” he promised, the weight of his body causing the mattress to sink. “I won’t hurt you. I just need this right now. I need you.” The dream Miles ran his hands through the sleeping man’s wet curls, his fingers massaging deftly into scalp.

“You’re a dream,” Bass mumbled, pleasantly leaning into the touch.

“How do you know?”

“Because you smell like rain and you’re not pointing a gun at me.”

The dream Miles slowly pulled the pillow out of Monroe’s grasp and tossed it aside, rolling his own body into the cavity that the curves of Bass’ arms were forming.

“It was raining earlier. I’m wet,” the amicable dream explained and Bass could feel the wetness of hair against his face. Someone else’s hair. He focused both of his eyes, realizing that they had already been opened, and held his breath.

“Miles... What are you doing in my bed?”

“I’m not really here. You’re dreaming.”

“The Hell I am!” Bass tried to get up, but an arm and a leg threw themselves over his limbs and coiled around him. 

“Shh. I told you I won’t hurt you.”

“What makes you think I’m not gonna hurt _you_?”

“No talking.” The Miles who was definitely no longer a part of any dream Bass could possibly have been having shifted his weight and was on top of him. Bass was suddenly very acutely aware of exactly how little he was wearing. The wetness of Miles’ own clothes added to his weight, as he rested the center of it in the middle of Bass’ abdomen by balancing himself on his elbows, face hovering just over Bass’ face. Bass tried to protest, but Miles just placed a finger against his lips and shook his head. “I said - No talking.”

Bass felt a shiver run down his body. He was most certainly wide awake again, and Miles fucking Matheson was sprawled on top of him as if this was _normal_ somehow, nay, even _welcome_. What? Bass opened his lips to speak again, causing Miles’ finger to drop into his mouth. In the darkness, Bass saw a flash of Miles’ teeth and closed his lips around the stray appendage, sucking on it gently.

“You’re beautiful. Can’t stand it,” Miles whispered and Bass whimpered a bit around the finger in his mouth, teeth and tongue stroking against it. There was so much he wanted to say, to ask, and even more surely _to hit, to strike_ , but instead, Bass found himself with his hands on the small of the other man’s back, palms smoothing up the vertebrae as he tried to feel every ripple of muscle underneath the other man’s shirt. Bass opened his mouth, unclenching his jaw, but Miles apparently had no intention of removing his finger from that particular cavern. He eyed Bass with silent intent, his body poised and coiled tightly, as if any given moment he was ready to attack or to flee. He put another finger inside Bass’ mouth, stroking down his tongue with both fingers towards the back of his throat, as if contemplating what it would feel like should he chose to actually fuck it.

Bass emitted a small groan and his hips gave an involuntary thrust upwards, his own erection meeting its twin inside Miles’ rain-dampened slacks. Bass closed his mouth again, sucking around both of Miles’ fingers.

“Open,” Miles commanded, and Bass obeyed. “Good boy.” He withdrew his fingers and lowered his own mouth over Bass’ lips. “Don’t kiss me back until I say you may.”

Well, it was just like Miles, to show up in the middle of the night, after repeatedly tearing his heart out, and then deciding to play some kind of a Dom game with him. Bass slackened his jaw and allowed Miles to explore his mouth with his tongue in slow and deepening strokes. He still smelled of rain and he was now fucking his throat with his gloriously long tongue. Surely, this had to still be some kind of a (really awesomely vivid) dream. He wanted to kiss back, but instead he moaned needily into the other man’s mouth. Miles drew back, examining Bass’ face, which felt so flushed that Bass was sure even in the darkness that Miles would be able to see him turn crimson. 

“Spread your thighs,” Miles ordered quietly and without a further thought, Bass allowed his thighs to fall open, splayed across his bed. Miles settled comfortably in between, the buckle of his slacks painfully brushing up against the sensitive flesh of Bass’ growing boner. Miles ran his hand over the exposed flesh of Bass’ abdomen and chest, his fingers toying with one nipple until the pain from the sensitized nub began to course down to the rest of Monroe’s limbs. “How can you still want me?”

Bass was about to reply but Miles placed his hand over his mouth again and his lips blew a soft hush into his ear, causing him to shiver helplessly. Miles placed his fingers around Bass’ jaw and squeezed again. “Open,” he prompted and Bass obediently allowed his mouth to fall ajar again, every physical part of him being completely on board with this game which his mind told him he should rebel against. “You may kiss me back now,” Miles whispered, his tongue cutting a sure path through Bass’ lips and into his mouth again.

Bass felt his lips coming to life, turning into weapons of well-practiced desire, as he kissed Miles back, hungrily, as if he wanted to suck the very air out of his lungs. Truth be told, a part of him did. A part of him wanted to wrap his hands around this man’s gorgeous, long neck, and to wring it. To feel life ooze out of Miles Matheson, so that he could never rip his heart out again. Bass moaned into Miles’ mouth, his tongue putting up a temporary battle for dominance before falling back again: it just felt too good to have Miles fucking his mouth with his own tongue to put up much of a fight.

Bass became aware of Miles’ hands, the strong, calloused fingers wrapping around his inner thigh. There would be bruises later, probably. Miles brought more of his weight down, grinding his pelvis against Bass’ throbbing erection, hands lifting and spreading his thighs even further.

“I need to be in you,” Miles said and it was as if he had pronounced the most meaningful thing in the world because Bass found himself not caring about anything else he may have said and done mere days before. His underwear, which was the only thing he still had on in the first place, was being torn to shreds, and for the first time it occurred to Bass that the cool feeling against his thigh was probably a dagger.

“What about you?” Bass asked, his hands greedily sneaking up and underneath the layers of Miles’ inconveniently present clothing. At first, Miles kissed him again, and Bass relished the feel of their mouths on top of each other once more, the familiar taste and feel of him that Bass could never shake. But at last, Miles had pushed his hands away, spreading them to the sides, away from both their bodies.

“Keep ‘em there,” Miles commanded.

“This isn’t a game,” Bass protested without any real heat to his statement. 

“Yes, it is. And I’m making the rules.”

“Miles...”

“No talking.” This time, the knife had flashed close to his neck and his pulse sped up. Miles let the knife drop to the bed next to them. “Sorry. Won’t hurt you.” 

What wouldn’t Bass give to be able to read the other man’s mind. There was a time when he would know not only the rules of the game, but exactly how the game would end. But that time was long ago, and somewhere along the line, Miles had changed the rules. Still, it was no less arousing for all the uncertainty. 

At last, Bass felt Miles’ fingers pressing into his hip bones. There would probably be bruises there too. Later. 

“Turn over,” Bass felt, rather than heard, the whisper breathed into the side of his neck. He flipped over onto his stomach, trying not to seem overly enthusiastic about it. Miles had slipped the pillow under his hips, elevating his ass, and Bass bit down onto his lower lip to prevent himself from moaning with anticipation of what was to come. Warm hands were stroking up and his down the backs of his thighs again, gliding right up to the upturned globes of his ass, and leaving him a melting wreck of desire, as they slid back down. 

Finally, he felt one hand caress the upper right side of his ass. Bass knew what Miles had been touching there: the scars from the small “M” that he had carved into that flesh himself, on a night not unlike this one, but a million years ago. It felt like a million years ago. Bass shivered from the memory alone. Those four shallow cuts were nothing in the afterglow he was feeling after Miles had fucked him into a stupor. “Don’t ever forget who you belong to,” he had told him back then. Bass has been trying to forget for years now, until...

Fingers were breaching him, and probably too easily because he heard Miles say, “Who have you been letting fuck you this whole time?” Bass moaned. He wasn’t going to reply, besides, he thought he wasn’t allowed to talk. Miles kept his fingers straight like the barrel of a gun, as he pistoned them in and out of his ass. “You little whore,” Bass heard. He wasn’t about to tell Miles about every single person he’s slept with in the last five years. The women, the men, Jeremy... Most often Jeremy. And even Strausser that one time. Bass tried to push away the memory of how he was unable to ride a horse for a week after that particular dalliance, but at the time he thought he needed the kind of punishment that only being with Strausser could provide. No matter, the psychopath was dead now.

“Please, Miles...” he finally emitted, not giving a fuck that he wasn’t technically allowed to speak.

“You want this, you little cockslut?” Bass felt Miles’ encased erection pressed right up against his thigh and he moaned entirely too wantonly again in assent. He happily heard the sound of Miles finally undoing his damn belt. “Close your thighs,” he was suddenly ordered, and that didn’t make a lot of sense, but Bass was too turned on to do anything other than comply. The belt was wrapped and tightened around his upper thighs, binding his legs together closely. Then he felt Miles tying his ankles together with something stringy. Miles was certainly going through a lot of effort for this... whatever this was.

He was yanked by his fettered legs down the bed, and dragged all the way to the edge, so that his ass was just barely hanging over the mattress.

“What are you doing?” Bass finally inquired.

“Giving you what you need,” Miles panted very close behind him, teeth trailing down the back of Bass’ neck.

“What’s that?” Bass asked.

“A reminder.”

Bass chuckled. He didn’t need a reminder. He knew whom he belonged to - he wasn’t the one who had walked out, the traitor.

“Keep your arms there,” Miles pointed to the space on the bed in front of Bass, and Bass obediently stretched his arms out, leaving himself helpless and unsupported for the time being. He felt Miles straddle him from behind, each leg firmly planted on either side of his hips, and then he felt the hands clasping his hipbones again, lifting him like a rag doll. The feel of Miles’ thick cock penetrating him after all this time, coupled with the fact that his legs had been bound, making everything feel so much tighter, was enough to make Bass emit a litany of cuss words. “You like that, don’t you, you little slut?”

“God... please... fuck...”

“Yeah, you do.” Miles had found the old familiar rhythm, his cock slamming into Bass as if it were echoing the erratic beat of his heart. Bass moaned helplessly into the mattress, his fingers intermittently splayed out and clutching at the sheets. He felt so full, so used, and so completely debauched. “God,” he heard Miles gasping, so close to his own ear, “You feel so fucking good. I can’t...” Bass knew exactly what he meant, but replied only in a long, guttural moan. His whole body had become one, hot, burning cinder of desire. Miles had mercifully wrapped his fingers around Bass’ straining cock and started to pump in time with the thrusts of his powerful hips. “I can’t, Bass...” Miles’ other hand was grasping Bass by hair. “It’s too much... It’s all just too fucking much.”

“I don’t care. Just fuck me.”

It was true. The only thing that Bass could think of that would possibly be worse than the feeling in the pit of his stomach when he and Miles had crossed swords in the power plant, was the thought that Miles might stop fucking him and slink out the window again.

But Miles apparently had no intention of stopping, at least not until he had brought them both off. Suddenly, Bass felt something being shoved in his mouth, a gag of some sort, and Miles had his lips pressed to the back of his neck again, sweat commingling with sweat as he pounded into Bass’ needy orifice. “God, I love you... Don’t speak... Don’t ever talk at all,” was all he heard as the combination of Miles’ cock and hand had finally brought Bass to the point of his orgasm. He moaned loudly into gag as his cock started to unleash a stream of cum all over Miles’ hand. He could feel the stuttering of Miles’ hips against his own ass, the thought of Miles filling him with his own jizz only adding to the power of his release. “Fuck! Bass!” Arms around his torso, clutching him tightly. “My love. Mine.” It was probably for the best that Miles had gagged him or else he would be spouting those same inanities himself. My love. My one. My all. _God, we are so fucked up_ , Bass thought and shut his eyes as his body began to settle into the afterglow. 

He came to because of the sting in the upper right quadrant of his exposed ass. It took him a few moments to realize what had happened, and when he did, he tried to scream into his gag again. His arms went out in an attempt to fight, but Miles was there, holding them down again, his body pressed flush against Bass’ burning skin, pressing hot kisses into the back of his neck again.

“You’re mine, Bass. Don’t you ever forget it.”

Miles pulled the gag out of his mouth and replaced it with his tongue again. Bass felt limbless and yet simultaneously aware that all his limbs throbbed with pain. His ass burned from where Miles had decided to recarve his initial into his flesh.

“Get the hell out of here before I have you killed,” he hissed, lips reluctantly separating from his lover’s mouth. When he would wake up the next morning, in a bed streaked with sweat, cum, and traces of his own blood, he would know that this was not some fucked up dream. But in the meantime, he could pretend to still be asleep, while his nightly incubus slithered out the open window into the humid air outside.


End file.
